Ivory and the Technicolor Daydream
by technical-direction
Summary: "And I, so full of naiveté thought perhaps the boy could learn to worship something more than power." She spat. "More that a figurehead—perhaps he could learn to worship happiness or friendship or love." OC
1. Ivory

**[After reading through a bit of this, I've realized a few of my errors. I love to take artistic liberties with my writing, but I neglected to notice that this fic is a bit of a mash-up between the 5****th**** and 6****th**** year. (I know, I know—I'm stupid and evil.) **

**I've been writing this one on and off while on holiday. I attend a university that keeps me very busy, so I'm not really surprised at my error. Please disregard it, or if you should choose, imagine Umbridge was able to stay another year. Snape is still teaching potions and whatnot.**

**Also, I love reviews! :3 Would my readers like a say in the plot of this story? They should definitely let me know. That being said, I do not appreciate hate mail; I want constructive comments. Let me know what you like, you all!]**

"You understand what we expect of you, Draco?"

He was bloody tired of expectations. He was tired of everyone pointing and prodding at him, of asking favors, of assuring him. He wanted to do no one's bidding, to simply exist. The ivory- haired boy was late for charms now.

As he trudged through the corridors at almost a jogging pace, he turned to face a familiar voice. This voice was devoid of an English accent, deep sounding to belong to a girl, with a hint of gravel storming along the edges.

"Draco!" The girl commanded, her voice ringing through the hallway as if she'd used a spell. He knew her well enough to know she hadn't. She looked as he'd always remembered her: long, brown hair, striking hazel eyes, and pale alabaster skin that still could not compete with his own. The gown of her Ravenclaw robes was open to show her gray and blue Hogwarts robe underneath.

Draco had to work to hide his developing smile. "Oi, Alice, heading to Charms?" He knew of her habit to be late to class. She was heading down the hallway to meet him.

She was almost out of breath by the time she reached him. "Well, someone thinks he knows me well, doesn't he?" Alice smirked as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She always wore it half-up.

Well, almost always. Draco was reminded of the year before when she attended the Yule Ball, all curls and… the white lace that laid across her shoulders and how the hollow of her throat sang from beneath it when she spoke. He was reminded of the silver sparrow pendant that rested against her chest like her skin was the sky. He remembered how she'd given him a hug when her date wasn't looking, and then she said she was so excited to be there. The scent of Jasmine still tickled his nose long after she'd gone off to join some nameless Gryffindor boy.

"I'm tardy as well." Draco announced, pleased to learn he had a class with her. They'd sent plenty of owls over the summer holiday, and he wondered why she hadn't told him so, considering he'd sent his schedule to her almost as soon as he got it. Draco was abruptly disheartened with the thought that nothing in his life could go unspoiled. The masochist inside him wanted to push harder to prove it. "How was your holiday?"

"It was nice to have a break and spend some time with my family." She said, her hazel eyes rising to meet his. He'd always been taller than her. They smiled at him, and his stomach rose as well.

"What class have you got next?" he asked, struggling to string his words together correctly.

"Potions, I think it was, and yourself?" She said with almost no problem. Draco became jealous.

"Same" he answered, frowning as he saw the door to Charms up ahead. "Another class with Flitwick," He scoffed, "It's about time we got a teacher that was tall enough to see over the podium. Better yet, let's just get rid of him-not like he's teaching anything important anyway."

"Draco," Alice said with an almost vicious expression, "That was cruel! I quite enjoy Charms class, by the way. I have to work exceptionally hard to pass!"

"Well, you don't honestly think Hogwarts will prepare you for when the Dark Lord—"

"Listen, if I cannot escape talk of you-know-who anywhere else, allow my hallway conversations to be unspoiled."

Draco flinched this time. "Unspoiled…yeah." He held open the door to charms, and let Alice in first. He was fully aware that Pansy would be furious with him when she saw. Professor Flitwick's lecture paused.

"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Adamson, please come join us; take a seat and open your books to page thirteen.

On one side of the classroom sat a silver-haired prince being scolded by his girlfriend, and on the other side, a friendly companion being embraced by an old friend. It was easy to say which of the two was more envious.


	2. White

Okay, so, I don't own Draco Malfoy- or really anything here. I understand that this is not entirely accurate and will not fit in with the Harry potter timeline exactly. My excuse for that is that this is fan fiction. Bear with me. I do care what you think. Now, let's do this!

He was not the type to wait for anyone, and yet, he was waiting face up on the dark green linens on his bed. He was waiting for his moon-faced owl, Liam, to return. Liam had been carrying a letter in his beak, and a peafowl feather in his talon. Alice would know the unsigned letter was from him because Draco had told her all about the Malfoys' albino peacocks… He'd never told her that he had a vase of feathers in every room that remotely belonged to him. His bedroom, his drawing room, his bathroom. The birds symbolized acceptance to him, for they'd never told him what to do, how to be. They simply ate, mated, and existed.

There were a dozen peafowls at Malfoy Manor, and he'd been collecting the feathers since he was a child. His mother always thought they were disgusting, but Draco never wanted to give them up, and because she appeased him, he was allowed to keep them. Draco was always the one to report to his father when a fowl had laid eggs. He knew the birds better than any house elf that slaved for the family. Sometimes in the afternoon, long years after he should have been bored of the birds, he walked along the campus of the estate, just to see the birds again.

Alice loved moths and owls, and he hoped that this feather, even if she didn't know how important it was, would sustain as a courtship gift. Snagging Pansy Parkinson had taken absolutely no effort; she was impressed by his superiority and political standing. He'd never given her anything or shared any intimate moments of epiphany with her. Perhaps that was why it had seemed so easy to drop her.

It had been several minutes before Liam was back at the window, and Draco assumed he'd had to wake her up. It was later than Draco was usually awake, and he could have never gotten into the Ravenclaw common room to wake her himself. Not only was he stumped on the location, he was quite aware that the password was a question, and questions about anything had always worried Draco. He hustled to the window of his chambers to open the window, being sure to be quiet enough to bring no notice to himself.

A rolled up scroll was attached to Liam's foot with a blue ribbon. It was familiar to him from all the summer correspondences. In preparation, he took a deep breath and plunged into the return letter.

Draco had written to Alice that she was attractive and empathetic. He said he was glad to see someone that wasn't so caught up in what he was going to be to forget who he was at the moment. He was glad she saw him as a human and not a tool. He couldn't believe the things that he said. He hadn't even regretted it until three minutes after Liam's departure.

Alice told him thank you. She said he was just as beautiful as he said she was. That she was… she was looking for someone who…

Draco frowned. His disappointment was not easily hidden. He was glad his roommates were asleep. As a parting gesture, Draco ran a finger down Liam's feathered back and sent him off before changing into his bed clothes and closing the curtains of his four-poster bed. Could he help that "cruelty" and "superiority" were features expected of him?

He closed his eyes and attempted sleep.


	3. Alabaster

"I don't care where you go—just leave me alone." Draco demanded of the two magnetic idiots who had not left his side since his first year at Hogwarts.

Draco liked moping. He liked the way Alice looked at him and bit her lip when he passed. She was constantly looking for a scowl, and Draco would not deny her. Even when the moping was gone, and had transformed into a small sense of disappointment, he drew a scowl across his lips with the precision that he had long come to master.

For some reason, time passed so much slower at school. At home, there were millions of things to do, from watching the peafowls to flying his broom to the muggle videogames he'd learned about from stolen conversations in London. At Hogwarts, he stared out of windows. He walked in circles. He sat in trees in the courtyard and watched Alice walk to class, nestled just-so within the boughs that she could not see him. Draco wanted his feather back.

On the second Tuesday in November, Draco stayed in his tree for the entirety of his free period. It was because ten minutes in:

"Hi" a small voice had said.

Draco ignored it, as he usually did.

"How'd you get into that tree?"

"I climbed it." He said dismissively.

There was a moment's pause before the small voice spoke again. "I figured that much. I'm trying to figure out how you climbed it if the trunk is so smooth."

"Magic; it's not totally unreasonable now, is it?" He said a bit snippier than the first time.

The voice became louder as the girl to whom it belonged grabbed the branch to the left of Draco's head. He'd missed the part where she'd gotten that high up. Her fingers were crossed around the top of the branch, her short, deep violet fingernails interlocking with the fingernails of her other hand. Her fingers were long and pale, but the color of her flesh, next to Draco's, was still deeper. The girl lifted up and Draco found himself watching the muscles in her arms contract. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to join you, what else?" Her cheery voice answered. "I love trees." She lifted up high enough to lift her foot to the branch on which Draco was sitting. She pushed herself onto the bough she'd pulled herself up to. "I hope you're not skipping classes." She added, much to the boy's annoyance.

"Why would you care?" His comment came off with a sneer.

"You're a prefect, and we wouldn't want you abusing your power, not that Umbridge would care. Someone has to be the moral conscience of Hogwarts."

There was a long pause in which Draco began to enjoy not being alone. It was the silence that was comforting for him. The thought that she would say whatever came to mind, and hide nothing. There was no plot for her, other than to sit in the tree beside a stranger. He would never admit that.

"Now, it seems that I've forgotten what you said your name was?"

"I didn't say." He replied, dancing around the question until he wanted to answer it. "M'name is Draco Malfoy."

"Well, neither did I, but my name is Olivia. If we're going to be friends, you can call me Liv."

"Who says we're going to be friends?"

She laughed and crossed her arms. "And who says we're not?"

Draco had to fight to keep the smirk from his face. She was bloody well as stubborn as him.

"How long are you going to be moping, anyway? I tend to like to have my friends speak to me as well." She added with a twist into the last two words. A wicked grin spread over her face, and Draco was surprised to find himself smiling as well.

"What's your full name?" He asked, quickly extinguishing his smile.

"Olivia Ophelia Mandara, if you fancy technicality." She replied, sliding down the tree limb to his level. "And you don't have a middle name. I knew that already. I thought it would be more polite to ask you to introduce yourself, but I am already aware of who you are. It's a bit spooky, eh?"

Draco stole a glance at the breast pocket of her robes.

"Yes, I am a Ravenclaw, and you are a Slytherin. Nonetheless, we will remain friend; in fact, we may even progress to best friends by a mutual decision."

"And why would you believe that?" Draco smirked, afraid to let a grin take over again. The thought of playing second fiddle for once was refreshing and he found himself quite intrigued.

"I'm actually quite fascinating, aren't I? Really, I'm a good actor. I'll leave our future or lack thereof up to coincidence." Her deep blue eyes penetrated Draco's, and he was reminded of someone else.

"You're convincing." He stated under the pressure

Liv wrapped her fingers around the tree's monstrous limbs again, and sank gently to the cobblestone courtyard.

"Where are you going?" Draco called out as he leaned over to see her better.

She winked one beaming blue eye at him. "See you around, Mr. Malfoy."

He tried, in vain, to find something clever to remark, but for some reason or another, the words just couldn't come to him.


	4. Snow

He could see her one day in the library. He was quite sure, as a matter of a fact, that Liv was there and that she couldn't see him. Her dirty blond hair was swept into a ponytail off the nape of her hair. The top of her spine seemed to wink at everyone in the room, but no one seemed to notice. Draco felt invincible.

Bits of Olivia's hair dangled before her face, frayed and sticky with sweat. . . It seemed to Draco as if she had been fighting. She was in muggle clothing as most Hogwarts students on Saturdays; a light green sweater coddled her that particular day.

Draco looked as she rested her elbows on a table and buried her face in her hands. At a loss for a greeting, he transfigured the book before her into a flowerpot full of white tea roses. Liv caught the view and sat up straight, her blue eyes widening with what appeared to be fear. "Oh, lord" she squeaked.

Draco caught up behind her. "I'm sorry—I didn't think—are you allergic?" He grabbed for the pot and almost broke it in his grip.

A rush of relief clouded her eyes. "Oh—no, no! I'm sorry, I was just. . ." she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. "They're delightful, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you; how thoughtful."

He sat the roses on her desk again. "Are you alright?" He asked begrudgingly, only because he knew it was polite. (He'd expected her to be impressed by his skill.)

"Ha-ha" she faked. "I'm alright. You know, I'd transfigure your camera into a parakeet if I hadn't… misplaced my wand." She referred to the thing dangling from his neck. He'd rather hoped to explore the owlery that day.

"Is that why you're upset?" He asked quite bluntly. "Where've you put it?" He took a seat in a comfy armchair.

"Someone took it from me." She admitted hesitantly.

"Well, who took it, then?" Draco demanded impatiently.

Liv wiped her nose again. "A big, stupid troll from your house," she spat, almost viciously.

Draco knew, of course, who she was talking about. "What's it look like?" He made up his mind then to retrieve it, though he could not find his motivation.

"She's ten and one quarter, and cedar. You know where she is, then?"

"yeah," he replied, a sense of satisfaction blooming across his face when she began to beam.

"You're going to get it for me?"

Draco hesitated, and then nodded.

"Oh, Draco Malfoy!" She exclaimed as she threw her arms around his shoulders. As she pulled away, the fragrance of sandalwood and Corrigan stayed behind, and maybe just a touch of lemongrass. "I just knew we would be friends!"

A sparkle caught his eye as he tried to disguise a smirk, and his gaze gravitated toward the glimmering oval locket on her chest. The edges were decorated with what looked like ivy.

"What would you like in return?" She asked.

He tried to think, but nothing came to mind. "Nothing; I don't need anything." The smile spread so wide across Liv's face so wide he feared it would break.

It was not exceptionally difficult for Draco to fetch the wand. It was nearly as simple as asking Goyle where it was. Crabbe was snoozing in the common room, the cedar wood wand sticking out precariously from his pocket. Draco yanked it from his possession rather harshly, but the lump of idiocy never seemed to notice. His snores and grunts were unbothered.

The fairer of the three sauntered back to the library, Olivia's instrument in hand, certain an unspoken reward would follow. He was very proud of himself when he handed her the wand, and she took it with a smile, quick to embrace him once more.

"Thank you so much!" she fussed, then explained the importance of a wand, as if he did not already know. "But I'm rambling aren't I? I apologize."

Draco sat expectantly.

"Yes?" She pondered. He said nothing, but it nonetheless clicked in her mind. "Of course you wouldn't admit you'd like a prize, but you do, don't you? You're only human." She patted her pockets in search of something, but found only muggle change, which she quickly hid, and hair pins. "For lack of a better reward, I owe you a sweet." She smiled up at him. "Okay?"

"Okay," He answered after sighing.

"See you around, Mr. Malfoy." She smiled.

Draco watched as she tucked her wand away. No one had seen their interaction, and for that, he had been thankful. It occurred the boy that it would be necessary to learn her station before he sought friendship with her.


	5. Ash

She'd said her last name was… Draco scoured his thoughts. Of course, he didn't even know her year. She looked about his age, but he'd not remembered her at the sorting ceremony five years earlier. Surely he would have remembered her.

He remembered the say quite vividly—how proud he's been to be inducted into Slytherin, and so quickly. The hat had barely been placed upon his head. The next day he'd sent a letter feverishly to his Mum and Father, even before breakfast. It had all seemed to excellent then, being a whole part of the family. Condemnation! The young Draco had never even noticed! Little dragon-obliged to serve under threat of death—for eternity for a cause he'd never actually understood. Why _this_ wizard? Why not anyone else? And Harry Potter—the boy who lived—his sworn enemy from the first day, having unwittingly failed Draco, and therefore Draco had failed.

The first letter—his third day—and a package from auntie Bellatrix: a silver ring too big for his fingers…and a question. The answer: No, he doesn't like me. He had memorized what the dark lord commanded he say. "The wrong sort, I can help you there."

It had been a mistake. He was just a child—a stupid, naïve child, the kind that seeks approval—the kind to do his parents proud. And from that first day onward, the grudge-filled old man within his soul hated Harry Potter for being everything successful, for being everything Draco wanted to be.

Draco knew Harry would be the successor of power. It was all fate, but Draco was bound to The Dark Lord through Bellatrix, through Lucius Malfoy, through his all-too-willing mother, and they all expected murder and viciousness from Draco. They wanted him to hurt people, to torture, to control, and he was not given a choice. Sometimes, Draco despised his parents. He wondered if he'd simply been born a kicking, screaming human being to be a tool of destruction and not love, like everyone else was. Sometimes, he was jealous of Harry Potter, of Ron Weasely, of even Hermione Granger, and yes he knew their names, their genealogies. The thing he did not know was the Mandara family. That frightened him the most: not knowing if this girl was in danger for knowing him.


	6. Pearl

Four days later, Draco's life had almost gone back to normal. He saw Liv often now, on his way to classes, and he looked for her during breakfast and dinner. He never saw her at lunch hour, but he noticed she had sorbet at dessert every day. It was blue at the Ravenclaw table, green at Slytherin's. Draco had asked around about the Mandaras, but he'd been afraid to push too far.

Olivia had none of his classes, but twice more she approached him in his tree. He never said much, but his listening taught him that she had been a Defense Against The Dark Arts whiz before Umbridge had taken over. She'd been given detention once for speaking out of turn. He learned that she love salamanders and hated Potions because of how commonly they were used in potions. He learned that she was fifteen as well, and had gone to private school for her first two years. When she transferred, the sorting ceremony had been done in private. That was the answer to the only question Draco had asked, and she had answered politely.

She didn't ask him many questions either, but when she did, they were always phrased specifically and politely. "Do you enjoy herbology, Mr. Malfoy?" The boy-man had found himself questioning these things early, an attempt to develop a proper response, some way to know the true answer himself. He kept a tab on all the things she would learn. Herbology, spice tea, pea fowls, the color white.

Draco Malfoy's favorite color was white. It was not the color of success or of thickness or of blood. It was the color of existence, and for that reason, it was wonderful.

"Olivia," He interrupted the latest time, during a story about a prank that had been played in the Ravenclaw common room.

"Yes?" She'd stopped her story, her eyes lighting up and her hands folding in her lap. It was a rare occasion for Draco Malfoy to question her.

"Why do you address me as Mr. Malfoy?" His words, as usual, remained even and spoken with little unnecessary flourish.

Liv was not one to miss a beat and proceeded as so. "You have not given me permission to use your first name, of course."

"I use your first name. Is that not permission enough?"

"Why, no." Liv answered once more.

There was a pause then as Draco found his phrasing for the next statement. "You may have the permission if I am granted the same privilege."

"Yes," Liv granted, still on beat, the corners of her lips curling into a loose grip. Her teeth were visible then.

Draco felt as though there was an owl perched upon his chest. "A-are you… a half-blood?" Draco stammered, aware than he was not being proper at all, and perhaps a little insulting.

Olivia's head tilted toward him, her eyes changing into half-moons in perspective. Her smile slowly faded and her hands, clasped together still, paled into a sickening tint of green. "Would it matter, Draco?" She said, her lips forming around the word that would be his name.

His mind became blank. "No—yes—it kind of would. I don't care, it's just, with the way things are…"

"What?" Liv's voice was quiet. Her eyes teared up.

"It's not me. It's difficult to explain."

"I know how things are, Draco. I know about death-eaters and the state of the wizarding world." She sniffed and rubbed the back of her hand across her cheek. "So if you plan on killing me, then do it now, because I intend to fight for my life."

"Olivia—Liv—I-I won't kill you. I promise." He wanted so badly for his uncertainty to scan as sincerity. He wanted to get her to stop crying those bloody tears.

"How can you promise that, Mr. Malfoy?" Her blue eyes found him then, and saw him wholly, and he suddenly felt very alone.

"What do you know?" He questioned quietly.

"I know only what it takes wit and cleverness to figure out, Malfoy."

"Don't call me that." Draco found himself ashamed to have that surname, ashamed of who that made him. "Draco—that's my name."

"Why should I be allowed to use it? The most pure-blooded families in the world married and created a son, a beautiful and pure-blooded son. I know that." Liv said before she sniffed again. "We all know that, and I, the muggle-born witch so undeserving of such a gift of magic, so full of naiveté thought perhaps the boy could learn to worship something more than power." She spat. Her eyes had grown wider, taller. "More that a figurehead—perhaps he could learn to worship happiness or friendship or love."

"So what, then? You think it's simple? I just up and go away from it all? My family, Olivia, has sold me to this life. I didn't choose it! I had no say!" Draco's fury matched Olivia's. No beats were lost between them. "You are naïve to believe that I desire this hell!"

Olivia stopped then. She stood up and approached him on the other side of the table. His rage had brought him to his feet, but he shrank into Liv's shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry Draco." Her voice was slippery and warm, and he drank so deeply. "I didn't think. I didn't think about it. It must be so frightening." Bits of her hair brushed across his face and it was comforting. Her chest pressed against his, her small torso pulled so tightly to him that he would later recall the feeling of their two hearts beating intermittently. He placed his hands on her waist, feeling his way to her back. They were there but a shot time, but it felt much longer. Draco's words all got stuck in his throat and no consolation was voiced. "I don't want to kill you." He said, his body radiating from the feeling of extended touch. Since Pansy had left him, accidental brushings of the hand had been rare. The only person to purposefully touch him had been Olivia, and things had not been very different in the manor.

"Oh, Draco," She cooed over him. Her outstretched palm rested gently upon his shoulder. "You are just as fearful as the rest of us, aren't you?" It was a question this time, and her eyes eagerly sought and answer.

He hesitated, and the tattooed mark on his forearm throbbed. "Yes" His word was simple and said many things. He felt vulnerable and wished for her embrace again. "My family," he shrugged. "If it was all up to choice and I can change it, Lord knows I would.

Her other hand rested timidly at her mouth, untouching. She watched as his mouth clenched and unclenched, bothered by their exchange. "I apologize," she whispered a small stab at consolation.

"I know." He matched. A small tear fell from his left eye, stopped on his pointed chin. Liv reached up and wiped it with her thumb, leaving his face unspoiled. "Orchideous," he spoke, and flicked his wand in a tight little circle before exiting the room, leaving her with a small bouquet of clean white orchids.


	7. Creme

Draco was three and one quarter cups into a spice-tea-induced haze, his tongue thick with vanilla. Untouched on the napkin placed carefully beside him lay a pumpkin scone. The edges of the napkin whipped viciously in the wind.

"Hello," a voice called from behind him. His gray eyes broke from the gaze they held against the quidditch hoops. The stands were empty.

"What are you doing here?" he asked hastily. His voice was thick with warmth.

Liv stepped down the rows to wooden bleachers and took a sat beside him. Her arms crossed, guarding her from the chill. "I came to fly, and then I saw you."

"You fly?" he ran his tongue over his lips to moisten them. They were chapping.

"Not very well, mind you, but I do." She coughed and straightened the gloves on her fingers.

There was a silence.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She countered, a bit too late.

There hadn't really been a reason for Malfoy's excursion. "I'm not really sure."

"Do you want to fly with me?" She asked politely.

He shook his head and there was another silence. "Do you want this?" he asked after a little while, referring to the scone. He took another gulp of tea.

"You don't want it? It looks rather delicious."

"My mother sent it to me in a package. I have more than enough."

"Your mother made them? That's all the more reason for you to eat it."

"I'm not trying to poison you, Olivia!" He barked.

She jumped. "I don't think you're trying to poison me, Draco." Her volume and intonation remained controlled. "Your mother made them for you. She obviously wanted you to have them."

"She told me to share them with my friends." He scoffed.

"I wonder what you look like when you smile." Olivia quipped.

"I smile."

"I mean when you honest-to-goodness have experienced something like bliss and you let go and smile a legitimate smile."

"I don't have much to smile about, now do I?"

"I'll bet it's gorgeous." She grinned and touched a playful fist to his shoulder.

"I—well, thanks."

"Thank you for the orchids. They were beautiful."

He obviously was embracing the attention. "It was just a spell." He hid his genuine smile beneath a cup of tea.

There was a pause.

Olivia turned to Draco and pushed a bit of hair behind her ear. "You like me, don't you?" She sincerely asked as a light flush clouded her cheeks.

"What?" His pitch heightened, but only barely. Liv didn't notice. Draco's full stomach became thick and heavy.

"I…I'm sorry. I just thought that maybe… the flowers and my wand. I'm sorry." She blushed even deeper.

He hadn't been thinking clearly when he reached out and pulled her mouth to his, his bony hands cupped around her chin. He pulled so hard that it made her neck hurt, but she found herself scooting closer. Her lips were soft and malleable within his, and when he took her bottom lip between his teeth, she let out a long, smooth sigh and Draco dropped his hold. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said and cocked an eyebrow.

"That—that sound you made," he stuttered.

"No, I…" She blushed as read as a Bertie Bott's jelly bean. "I liked it a lot, actually."

"Oh," he said. Draco did not blush, but if he were able, he might have. They inched closer again; Draco's breath quickened and their mouths almost touched.

When they paused, Olivia was the one to break the tension. Her rhythm was quicker than Draco's and she sipped his breath easily, cautiously running a hand through Draco's hair softly, slowly. He grew excited and wondered if she could tell. He hoped not. His mouth began to feel cold without his tea and soon after, the kiss was done. "I like you too. I just thought you should know."

"We can't do this." He replied tersely. "There isn't much I'd want to lose more than my head."

Liv turned away and looked into her lap. Draco watched as she fidiget with her fingers. "We could still be friends?"

Draco thought. The wisest, safest answer would be no. "Barely," he answered.

"You're doing this for me, then?" she asked quietly. She still did not turn to him. There was a pause and she continued. "You don't want me to get hurt because you like me?"

"I never said I like you." He sneered.

"I don't need you to say it. I'm in Ravenclaw; I'm exceptionally clever." She reached her hand out without looking and grasped one of Draco's hands. "Your concern is endearing, Draco, but I am a big girl."

He said nothing, but listed the names of his father's comrades in his head. He's thought of how they'd liked Pansy so well. He worked with much effort to resist squeezing the hand that held his. It was so different than the one belonging to the girl before her.

"I can take care of—"

"It's not like dueling a classmate, Olivia. It's not easy. They're bloodthirsty."

Liv shrunk like a petunia when he interrupted her. "It doesn't seem fair."

Draco threw his gaze away. "It isn't; it's just unbeatable."

Liv stood beside him and picked up her broom. She held his cheek in her hand for a moment and softly brushed her palm against his chin before quietly walking away.


	8. Parchment

Draco could see Olivia at breakfast if he sat at the right side of the table. At breakfast, the tables were almost always nearly empty and he enjoyed the solitude. Crabbe and Goyle ate beside him every morning, gluttonous reminders of his house. He looked away from her to slice his apple into sixths and absentmindedly thumb through his paper.

"Fancy the bum on that one, eh?" Crabbe said as he spilled a bit of egg from the side of his mouth.

Goyle quickly spoke up. "You mad, Crabbe? That's Madeline Duckworth. The ticket's her older sister, Martha."

"What d'you think, Malfoy?"

"What?" He asked, already irritated and only half-listening.

"Martha Duckworth's bum," Goyle repeated.

"Martha Duckworth is a mudblood." He said dismissively before turning inconspicuously to see what Olivia was having for breakfast. It looked like a grapefruit and toast. Draco detested grapefruit. He occasionally heard snip-its of the conversation of the two fellows around him.

"…reminds me of the time Father…"

"…biting like a rattlesnake…"

"…took her hips and shoved…"

Draco understood the conversation then and his ears perked up at the animosity. "Are you speaking about stealing the maidenheads of mudbloods?"

"Maidenheads?" Goyle cocked and ignorant eyebrow.

"The…" Malfoy looked for a better, plainer word. "The virtue—if I were to use such a term," Draco unfolded his paper to hide his look of disgust.

"Ah—well, muggles, but they're all the same anyway, aren't they?" Crabbe guffawed. He knocked Draco in the ribs with his elbow.

"All the same," He repeated. He smiled when he saw Olivia's fruit clearer. It was not a grapefruit, but an orange.


	9. Pale

Every year at Halloween, there was a ball. As per usual, Draco sauntered up to the bar and ordered a butterbeer. He hated to dance, but his mother always made a big to-do about his dress robes every year and he felt obliged to appease her. Pansy had walked over a half-hour ago and knowingly asked him to dance with the knowledge that she would be jilted. If the dark lord himself had asked him to dance, he would have had to use Imperius for it to happen.

After two drinks, he asked for a firewhisky, and upon the production of a permission slip, he partook. It was not particularly delicious, but it was relaxing and that was good enough. Hogwarts did not permit champagne or wine, which carried both attributes. Draco had not seen Olivia in a couple of weeks and was quite surprised to see her suddenly on the stool beside him. Her blonde hair was pulled into a skillful braid that encircled her head, and there were two green ear bobbles dangling in the foreground.

"Hello," Draco said in a scruffy voice. His ritualistic inebriation was close to taking place.

"Hello, there," She mirrored before ordering the same drink. She took a sip and shuddered. Her smile was missing.

"You aren't so happy." He said when he noticed.

"I've just gotten detention." She frowned.

"Did you look at a wand for too long or something?" Draco laughed, worrylessly. She took another sip and Draco then laughed at the way her face crinkled up.

"I was dancing with my friends, and we were in a circle, and apparently that is not allowed."

"New rule," he replied as he held up his tumbler for a toast. "It was 11:30 am today." He'd remembered because it woke him up. He'd planned to sleep until noon.

Liv clinked her glass on his. "You seem awfully happy for someone who is holding the bar for dear life." She observed.

"I'm three drinks in." He smiled.

Olivia followed his expression. They mirrored each other through another drink. "I was right, I see."

"Hm?"

"I was right."

"Oh yes, about what?"

"Your smile is gorgeous."

"Just as you are."

Olivia blushed. "You clean up well, yourself."

Draco looked at his own robes, plain black and white with deep green bow tie, well-fitting and clean. He saw as the green of his toe matched her dress. The piece cut down low in the back, and it had a small silver zipper in the crease that followed her spine. The pull of it resembled a teardrop. "We look as if we were made to be here together." He spoke through thin lips, his eyes still caressing her zipper-pull, then the nape of her neck, framed by curly little baby hairs.

"Did you come with a date?" She asked, breaking his concentration.

"No; did you?" He asked formally, as he should have done before he had started to gawk at her fearlessly.

"What about Pansy? She's wearing your cape."

"I gave it to her as a pacifier. I said I came here without someone to escort. Do you take me for a liar?" He grew stern.

"No, I simply wondered." Liv answered.

"Where is your escort?" He asked, hoping for a specific answer.

"I told you I was here with friends. Don't you remember?" She said. Around the glass, Draco could see her violet-polished fingernails. She was a plethora of dark, sensuous color.

"I do." He did not apologize. He drained the last of his glass and pushed it to the edge of the bar, where it promptly disappeared before them.

Olivia was rid of her tumbler then as well, pulling a small bag around her wrist. "Well, I think I'm going out for a walk then."

"You shouldn't." Draco said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Why not?" She asked as she straightened her dress. She stifled a small hiccup.

"You'll—you'll get more detentions."

"I suppose you have a point. Is it against the rules to sit in trees yet?"

"Being on the grounds is still against the rules."

"Well, I certainly don't want to sit here for the rest of the night."

Draco thought. He was a prefect, meaning that if he wanted, he could escort her almost anywhere on the grounds. :You could catch up on your homework." He suggested. He felt very tired.

"You're right." She sighed. She took a step and tumbled a bit. "Could you walk me to the tower?"

Draco stood. "You're like a feather." He still walked steadily.

As the two of them meandered through the castle, they were mostly silent. A time or two, Liv stumbled, but she caught herself quite nicely. "Thank you." She said when they got closer to her common room. "I'm not one for drinking. I find it curious, though," Draco did not implore, so she continued. "I do not know if you spoke to me tonight because of the alcohol or because you've grown comfortable with me."

Draco knew which words were expected from him. He delayed himself, seeing the entrance if the common room so close. Olivia must have noticed, because she stopped in the hall and grabbed his sleeve. She was wordless, asking several things with her eyes. "Shh," He whispered finally. "Do not ask me such things." She dropped her eyes to the floor. Draco felt cruel and superior, like Alice had said—like the traits his parents expected of him.

"I hate this." He sniveled, obviously overtaken by her drink. She reached out a hand and placed it blindly on the left side of Draco's chest, she was unsteady, and he found himself holding her by her elbow, one hand close to her waist to catch her if she fell. Umbridge would have his head if she saw. "You're so smart, Draco, and so talented. You could—"

"No, Olivia, don't be stupid. Go to sleep." He wanted badly to kiss her, but there was not competition and he easily won the battle and opted instead to walk away, leaving her alone this time.


	10. Colorless

Draco had gone home the next weekend, halfly because he was avoiding Liv, and halfly because an egg had hatched at home. Narcissa had written him, mentioning that the house elves had been saving feathers for him, though she rather wished he'd throw them away. Draco had written back quickly and had been permitted a visit home. Indeed, the vase that sat beside his bed was now filled completely.

"Mossy!" He called out when he saw them.

A loyal house elf appeared in the room, a potato sack for clothing. "Yes, Master Draco?" The old elf sighed in a deep tone.

"This is your doing?" Draco asked, pointing to the vase.

The elf nodded.

"Good; draw a bath."

"Yes, master," he answered, silently clearing the room on his way into Draco's bathroom.

Mossy was Draco's favorite house elf. A careful, measured creature, with small ears and a crooked snout, he was not one to give an opinion or to speak when it was not necessary. Mossy had served the Malfoy lineage for decades. In ways most curious, he had never divulged any information about himself. He drew the bath quickly and opened the curtains in the room to reveal a view of the back yards huge and fenced-in for the pea fowls to roam freely.

"Very good," Draco dismissed. The sun had begun to set. The trip from Hogwarts was long and quite dreadful, really, but pieces of home made up for that. Draco undressed and sat down in the water slowly, as it was hot. The bath smelled of peppermint, a fine way to close the day. Back at school, Olivia would be flying as she did every Friday afternoon. She would be cold, possibly turning back because of the time. He wondered if she was alone. Draco gathered all of his breath and sank fully beneath the water, his eyes closed. He heard no sounds. It was always quiet in the manor at dusk. He felt the overwhelming need to cherish that moment as if he would not have it later.

The chick was odd; Draco thought when he finally laid eyes on it. It was brown with black eyes, unlike any other chick that had been hatched at the manor. He held the fowl in his hands and gently pushed to see the feathers under its down. They were the color of spice tea.

Draco listened at the door of his father's study to see that he was alone. When he was sure, Draco knocked on the tall mahogany door and stepped in.

"Ah, son, how is my boy today?"

"I'm fine, Father."

"And how is your bird?" It was not a secret to his family how attached Draco was to the creatures. Lucius knew and used the affection to his advantage. If he wanted a visit from his son, he would often write him with a question about an avian ailment, without specificity.

"I find it strange that the heir of two albino birds is brown."

"You wish to know of genetics?" Lucius asked taking a quill in hand.

"Yes, I suppose so." Draco answered, leaning forward in his green chair to see what his father was writing.

Lucius drew on a sheet of scrap parchment:

AA

Ab

AA

AA

Ab

Ab

Ab

bb

"In order for your bird to have been brown without albinism, both parents must have been carrying the gene for normal coloring. Does that explain it?"

Draco nodded, but did not completely understand. Genetics seemed foolish. He'd simply wanted to make an observation and make conversation with his father about something other than expectations.

"Wait… I have that backwards." Lucius paused. His mind had become like an ancient carpet in days of late. It was pretty to observe, sometimes difficult to avoid, and fraying on the ends.

"Oh?" Draco prompted. He hoped the next subject would be more fascinating.

"Because albino pea fowls are so rare, it is more common that they produce a brown heir. The gene is recessive."

"Recessive?"

"Submissive is another word, like blond hair and blue—or gray—eyes…like ours." Lucius placed a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. "It's a sign of good, selective breeding." He chuckled.


	11. Eggshell

"I am sometimes afraid, you know." She whispered. She pulled her arms around the belt of her coat. The sun was setting and the two of them lay feet apart on a pier on the lake. Draco was looking into the sky. "I suppose none of us can always be brave. We are only human."

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"What is it like to be feared?" she asked innocently. She's tried extra hard for that. He could tell.

"Wonderful and horrible," he answered without elaboration. He continued. "What is it like to be loved?"

"The same," she countered. They looked into the sky and Malfoy watched as his friend raised her wand and called an apple towards her. Her spell was deftly obeyed. He watched as a non-verbal spell cut the apple into portions, half of which levitated above him. "I didn't know you were so skilled. It takes much concentration to use a non-verbal spell." He complimented.

"Could I have stolen it, the mudblood that I am?"

"Don't call yourself that."

"Why not?" her pitch raised. "I am, aren't I?"

Draco took a bite of his fruit. "You are a human and a witch."

"And you are a wizard." Liv turned on her elbow. "There is a disease among muggles, you know. Sickle-cell anemia, it is called. When an African person mates with a white person, the offspring is guaranteed not to have the anemia. He or she will also not have Fibro-Myalgia, which occurs among white muggles. Did you know that?" She asked.

""You're forgetting Tay-Sachs disease with Jewish Muggles.

"So you do." She smirked, drawing Draco's attention. He quickly looked away and took another bite of apple. "Do you ever wonder if there is something like that out there for pure-blooded wizards? Perhaps that is why your numbers are so few."

Draco thought and settled on an answer. "Is hatred not a disease?"

"Oh, we all have hatred, Draco." The sky grew dim. "We are just spending time hating different things."

There was a long pause, and Olivia dropped the thought, settling down a few inches closer and having a piece of apple. She glared once again into the sky and watched as a few flakes of snow fell. It was a light powdering, nothing to worry about. They lay quietly undisturbed. "Why don't you hate me?" He whispered. "What _do_ you hate?"

Liv turned and echoed his soft volume. "Why…" she paused, reluctant. "Why don't you love me? What do you love?"

Draco Malfoy turned to face her, too. He was a bit shocked about the nature of her question, phrased so bluntly. Just the thought of the questions was unruly.

"I am afraid of the pain." She spoke through his horror. "I know it would not simply be death. They would bend me and cut me and I am afraid of that. I am afraid of what they would do to my parents."

"You hate the idea?" He did not understand.

She ran her tongue along her lip, a break for thought. "I hate that they despise me for something I cannot control. I hate that you are made to despise me."

"So you really do not hate me?"

"No, no," she shook her head. She pulled closer to him and pulled an arm around his waist. He became afraid to move—to show either displeasure or happiness. He was still. "I do not hate you at all."

"I do not love you."

"That was not the question. The question was 'why not?'"

Draco never answered her. "I love pea fowls." He spoke plainly.


	12. Mother of Pearl

Pansy was waiting outside the boy's dormitory the next morning, her pug-nose turned up at the ceiling. Draco saw her immediately and his steps, once hurried, then slowed. He feared the worst. When she saw that she'd cornered him, she approached. "I'm so sorry, Draco."

He lifted an eyebrow, now confused. "What?"

"I'm sorry for the fussing I did about that girl?" She said softly.

"What girl?" His voice raised.

"Alice, her name was?" she answered. "I just thought that you fancied her more than me, but really, it doesn't matter. I just want to be with you." She reached into her bag and pulled out his cape, charmed to be un-wrinkled.

He took it in his hand, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to touch it. "It's been a month and _now _you choose to return it?"

"I kept it because it smelled of you. I didn't think you'd mind."

"Then why are you returning it?"

"I wanted to speak with you."

Draco spied down the corridor, which was empty. "About what?" He spoke rashly. He had places to go.

"I said. I want to be with you. Will you take me back?"

Draco did not think. He dropped the cape to the floor. "Of course not," and he was off to the room of lost things.

Dinner was awful. From down the table, he could see Pansy throwing a perpetual fit, from across the tables, he could see, if he maneuvered cleverly, Olivia eating her dinner. She looked perplexed. Two seats down from her was Alice. He tried to ignore them, tried to focus on his project, but it was difficult.

He tried to think of all the work he needed to have done that night for classes, the projects he would have to repair and destroy for Father. The repairs and destructions were more stressful than any girl problems. He tried to think of his upcoming OWLS and how much time he'd have to give up. He didn't want to quit quidditch, as eventually Slytherin would defeat Gryffindor and he wanted the honor of whipping Harry Potter. He would surely be rewarded for that.


	13. Canvas

"Merry Christmas, Draco," He heard chime from behind him. He was tired; it was late and he was elbow deep in a textbook about bewitching objects. The man's eyelids were just about to droop when the pair of cold hands wrapped around his eyes and he got a second wind.

"Who is it?" He asked. It was not so playful, more frustrated.

"Oh," the hands disappeared, "I'm sorry. You must be exhausted." It was Olivia, still in her uniform as well, her sleeves pushed to her elbows, her tie loosened. Aside from the colors, their uniforms were twinned.

"I am very tired." He answered, taking his first break in three hours.

Liv turned up the cover of his book. "Bewitching—you must be studying for OWLS." She shrugged. "As am I. I'm currently going over potions; it's not really my forte."

"I could give you a hand if you needed one. Potions is my strong-suit." He offered. He was almost ready for a nap on the floor.

"Who's this, eh?" A shriller female voice bellowed. Pansy was not one for respecting rules, even if the three of them were in a library. "You got yourself a little mudblood girlfriend?" She pushed Draco from his leaning position to straight back into his chair. "Is this why you don't want me anymore?"

Draco looked at her furious eyes and then at Liv's hands, which were gripped around the armrest of the chair she had previously taken. "Get your hands off of me, Pansy."

"Er-hello," Liv shuddered.

"Don't you talk to me, you filthy little wretch!" She yelled before turning her attention back to Draco. "What is this?"

"I…" Liv interrupted, scrambling to stand up and get her bag. "I thought he was someone else, and he was…"

"I'm not stupid!" Pansy barked.

"I do not know her!" Draco barked back. The two became schnauzers fighting over an ox bone.

"Prove it!" Pansy yelled at Draco. "And don't you move!" She pointed at Olivia without moving her eyes. Pansy murmured something and then reached into the pocket of her robes. The piece she brought out was a little vial filled with gold liquid. Around the bottle curled a small pewter snake encircling its way to the cork that held the contents within. Pansy thrust the bottle at her old flame.

"You can't use this on me." He said.

"That's why you gave it to me—you said that I could save it and borrow your secrets when I needed them!"

"Pansy, I'm not dead." He whispered. He'd made the potion at home as a birthday gift for the previous year. In the vial there was a telling potion. It had been meant for her to save and use if he had been killed so that he could tell her one last time that he loved her. Draco had been convinced that he loved her. One afternoon the potion had been made for his parents and he'd overheard his mother telling his father how romantic the idea was. There was still a great deal of love in his parents' marriage.

"I don't care!" Pansy demanded.

Olivia looked more frightened than she did before, her eyes wide. She was unaware of the potion he was about to ingest. Truthfully, Pansy did not know the contents of the bottle either. Draco was trained in Occlumency quite well, but his skills were unnecessary. It was not a truth serum; it was a telling potion. "Fine," he said and swiped the bottle from her hands and drank it down in one gulp.

"Are you with her?" the questions were instant.

"No," he spoke quickly. That was a side-effect of the draught.

"What is her name?"

"I don't know." The questions were done quickly as well. Pansy had all of the answers she'd wanted, and they were the ones Draco had told her in the first place. She'd wasted the potion.

"Do you still love me?" She whispered so only he could hear.

"No," He said plainly and as quickly as before.

Tears welled up in Pansy's eyes and she wiped them away before leaving, simply muttering "Okay."

Draco and Olivia were silent until they were sure the girl had gone. They locked eyes for a moment and for reasons unknown, Draco feared Liv would be angry. "Did she give you a truth serum?" She asked, finally leaning over in her chair relaxed, or simply more relaxed than she had been before.

"No, it was a telling potion, meant to extract words from the dead." He leaned over, too, relieved that everything had gone relatively smoothly.

"You made it?"

He nodded. She did not seem angry at all. "For Christmas, you'll give me potions lessons, then?" She tried to lightheartedly smirk.

"It's a week to Christmas, and we'll both soon be home." He shook his head.

"For early Christmas?" She asked hopefully. "Don't expect I haven't gotten you a gift."

He must try not to be cruel and superior. "After Christmas, then, I'm very busy lately." He stood and got his books.

"Well, if I don't see you, happy Christmas." She said as she stood, too.

Draco leaned forward and kissed her cheek, his hands still clutching his bag, and left. It did not feel sweet and he did not feel accomplished.


	14. Vanilla

The night before boarding the Hogwarts train to return home, an owl arrived at Draco Malfoy's window. It pecked its beak rather harshly on the window. With surprise, Draco saw that the owl was not Liam, but another more yellow moon-faced owl. The owl was well-kept, he could see, with big eyes, and quite expectant-looking. Feeling rather pressured, the man put down the gift that the owl had been carrying and pulled out a treat from a pouch that was especially for Liam.

After attending to his guest, he turned his attention back to his own interests and opened the package. Nestled in a bit of wrapping paper was a green and gray scarf, obviously hand-knitted with a note, reading:

Dear Draco,

My sincerest wish is for you to have a happy holiday despite your obvious lack of enthusiasm for Christmas. I've knitted you this scarf and had another dear friend enchant it to help you avoid a scratchy throat and stuffy nose. Please feel free to write over break. By the way, this is my owl, Henrietta. Please don't spoil her too much, as she is a glutton.

Best Wishes,

Olivia

Draco sighed loudly. She'd obviously appreciated the kiss, and now he would be forced to deal with his actions.

With three minutes before he was to return home, Draco wondered if he should have also gotten a present for Olivia. He'd, of course, gotten gifts for Crabbe and Goyle, but other than Pansy Parkinson, Draco had never had a friend that was a girl. Alice had rather been an acquaintance, come to think of it. Upon further inspection of their letters, their conversation was all small talk. He'd never noticed that before.

Draco boarded the train with his newspaper in hand, prepared to visit his birds.

There were more parties awaiting the Malfoys than Draco had expected. Lucius was becoming more prominent at the ministry as well as in the Dark Lord's affairs. Every Death Eater in England wanted audience with his father and mother—their sons and daughters with Draco himself.

"Show me your mark." One young boy asked, or rather politely demanded. He was Draco's host, a fellow Hogwarts attendee of only twelve. Remembering when he had been that age, the prince walked diligently to hide his disdain.

"Why should I? Mine looks no different than your father's." Draco sneered.

"Let me see it. You're not ashamed of it, are you?" The boy was taunting, fully aware of the danger if that speculation. Draco was to wear the brand with dignity…honor and pride.

"No, I'm not ashamed of it, you git!" He barked back, perhaps a bit too quickly—a bit too angrily.

The boy inched forward, unrelenting, and still fascinated. "Then show it to me."

The deal was rigged. Draco could not say no for fear of incriminating himself. He took the two fingers of his right hand and hastily pulled up his left sleeve. His arm was naked and pale from being hidden, but the brand was thick and black like obsidian, for the Dark Lord walked that very room. An almost-growl escaped Draco's lips as the boy stretched out his hand of touch the mark. "Do not touch me, you fool!" He spat and ripped his sleeve back down to his wrist. He felt both repulsed and disgusted as he observed the hero-worship now placed upon him for having been branded.

Liv,

I thought it was only polite to thank you for the scarf. I feel quite well thanks to it. My holiday is splendid; many blessings on yours. Please accept these tokens as your own gift. The tea was grown here at Malfoy Manor and prepared only this morning. It is best if steeped over night. The feather was dropped by my favorite albino peacock, who is called Morrie. See you at school, then.

Draco

Dear Draco,

Thank you so much for the gifts. The feather is so regal and the tea was delicious. I had it with breakfast this morning. Please do let me know if Master Malfoy decided to enter the tea business. I trust things you have received many generous presents. I have also been given a necklace and many books, one of which I think you would be very keen on, so I intend to bring it to school to show you.

All the Best,

Olivia

Olivia,

I am pleased you enjoyed your gifts. I do not plan to enter the tea business, but thank you for the compliment. Among the gifts I received was a salamander that changes color every tenth of a second. My mother has named it Ophelia, and therefore she reminds me of you. I will bring her back to school. I think I've forgotten to mention my appreciation for the scarf. It does its job well. I will see you soon.

Draco

At times, it seemed as if the mark was staring at him like a secret camera. He'd taken the mark at his father's bequest and feared it as often as he saw it. It would not be removed, not with razor or by magic. It was as permanent as a severed ear.

"Severus spoke with me briefly yesterday." Lucius said lowly at breakfast one morning. This was not abnormal.

"yes, father," Draco responded as he normally would, with one hand around a knife covered in marmalade, the other around a piece of toast.

"He says that there is a muggle-born girl who—" Draco's father was interrupted by a loud crack.

"Lucius Malfoy, we hate to interrupt breakfast, but unfortunately there is ministry business to be done."

Dearest Draco,

I wrote as soon as possible. I hate to read about your father. If you should need anything at all, please do not hesitate to ask for it.

All My Love,

Olivia

Dear Olivia,

Thank you.

Draco

Dear Draco,

It seems like such a long time since we have been at school. I am eager to return and see you and all of my classmates. I will be sure to pack that book for you. I do not, however, look forward to a fresh workload. Please write back promptly and let me know how you are doing. You've not written in a while.

All My Love,

Olivia

Dear Liv,

I am doing well. Another egg has hatched at the manor, so I have been busy. I also look forward to being back at school. I hope you are doing well.

Sincerely,

Draco


	15. Arctic Fur

"Oh, Draco!" Olivia exclaimed at the first chance she saw him. "I've missed you." She did not hug him or touch him at all. They were not alone. She nodded when she saw the scarf she's knitted then.

He nodded back briefly. "It is nice to see you. I'll send you an owl, then." He seemed devoid to Olivia.

"Okay," she answered quietly. She could not wait to be alone together. It felt like it had been ages since they'd spoken.

"You're going to win. Your broom is better than mine, and besides, you're a seeker."

Draco scoffed. "I don't even need the broom to beat you."

"You're right," Liv agreed. Draco had not expected it. "You're better than I am. We might as well not even race. The outcome is sure."

So Draco grounded his broom. He'd invited her for flying, but it was quite cold and she was correct at any pace. "Then what now if we're not to fly?"

"Do you want to talk about anything?"

"I do not need to talk about father." Draco snapped as he often did when someone mentioned his father's incarceration in Azkaban.

Olivia chose to scoff then. "No, not about your father. I'd like to talk about my granddad."

"What's so special about him?" Draco sat cross-legged on the ground, but Liv still stood.

"He died over the holiday." Draco's counterpart did not speak. He quickly came to the conclusion that he'd shamed himself.

"He was in a car accident and it made me very sad." She said blatantly. Part of Draco was relieved that she was so open about it. She did not play games with her feelings. They were not difficult to read.

"I'm sorry for your loss." He said.

Olivia smiled and sat down beside him on the Quidditch pitch. "That is by far the kindest thing you've ever said to me."

"Not as kind as when I retrieved your wand"

"Or the flowers," she nodded. "I know you care for me, Draco. I do not intend to make you say it."

"I don't know why."

"Because—"

"I don't know why I care for you or why I prefer you over Pansy. I don't know why I want to protect you. I don't know why it matters, and it is so frustrating to put up with this." He spilled. It felt like the owl that was perched upon his chest had gone off to fetch a mouse. This was an owl that did not often hunt.

Liv seemed unphased. He did not understand why his words had not made a difference. "Stop being rational for a moment, Draco. Okay—promise me."

He was uncertain as to why he had promised. It made little sense, but still he found himself trying.

"When you stop trying, the world will become yours. Tell me about Lucius."

Draco tried. He tried very hard and eventually something came to his mind to say. "I miss him. It doesn't matter what he does. He's still my father and he's probably afraid."

Liv nodded and touched her hand on his knee. "That was good. Superb, really,"

"Yeah?" He was not sure why he wanted her approval.

She made an affirmative noise in her throat. "Do you want to try another one?"

It seemed like a gamble and Draco was not sure if he wanted to accept. He looked into her blue eyes and an irrational answer came to his lips. "Sure"

She cleared her throat and after biting her lip for a long second asked another question, one she had asked before. "Why don't you love me, Draco?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?" His temperature rose.

"Why haven't you answered yet?" She looked into the sky as if it could speak back to her and tell her the truth.

"It doesn't matter why not!" Draco said impatiently.

"It does! It matters!" Olivia finally snapped back. "For me, it makes a world of difference, so why don't you just tell me so I can stop obsessing over it?"

"W-what?" Draco stammered before his jaw dropped. She was acting so strangely.

"What is so repulsive about me?" She looked as if she were close to tears.

_There's nothing repulsive about you. _He thought "Your kindness—it's as if you're not human."

"You don't love me because I'm kind?" She asked through a scoff. She blinked her tears away at the clouds' level.

Draco nodded.

"So you mean to say that if I was meaner, impolite, and thoughtless that you would love me."

Draco assumed that she would not lose her character, so without much contemplation, his answer was yes.

Olivia hexed Hermione Granger the next day. The mudblood had grown a thick angry mono-brow and burst into tears in divination. Olivia had tripped Pansy Parkinson in the hallway and given her a bloody nose. From Cho Chang, Olivia had stolen a paper, even though she had already written her own.

"Liv," Draco began when he found her in their tree skipping classes.

"What, you cactus?" she attempted. She was just not good at being cruel.

"Just stop this."

"Why? You said—" her eyes were big; she was regretful.

"I lied to you." Draco spoke plainly. It was not a bother to admit. When Liv did not respond, he continued. "I didn't want to tell you the truth."

After a little while, the girl returned to the atmosphere. "I'll have to apologize then." She hung her head and Draco could see a couple of drips fall from her eyes.

Draco climbed the tree and shared the bough with her. "Why me then, eh?"

"What?"

"Why do you want me to love you?" He had to clear his throat.

"Well, I fancy you." She blushed.

"Why?"

"At first, because you were beautiful and intelligent- Then I knew you, and it was because you were worse than you know and worth more than you think." She tried to smile.

"I'm not worth this."

"You are." Olivia countered matter-of-factly. She looked tired.

"Are you okay?" Draco questioned while suppressing an urge to reach out and touch her.

She shook her head.

"What's wrong?"

"The world is, little dragon." She took his hand in hers, leaned against another branch, and silently cried.


	16. Snowflake

She seemed so mournful over the next few days and Draco tried to blame that on the loss of her grandfather. He saw her much less at the library and during meals. Parts of him feared that she was ill.

Draco had taken to wandering around at night in later times. Everything was quiet. The baths were always free. Potter would eventually be out, he knew, and it would only be a matter of time before he was caught. In the mirror, Draco could see his own sallow skin, his dimming eyes. Day by day the boy looked more like his father. This both frightened and warmed him. The prince still loved his king. Long live the king over any lord. Draco ran his long hands under cold water and then over his face. The world seemed to be ending and it was not the same ending that Draco had imagined the world would take.

He slipped on his shoes and walked out into the night. The cold was bitter and there was still a sheet of snow on the ground, though it had been days since the last snowfall. When he saw the tree, Draco stopped in reverence, eyes upon the bare branches. Deeply, he breathed in what would become a memory, a pleasant return to normalcy in a piece of free time. It had been minutes until Draco saw the figure beneath the shadow of the trunk. "You, get to bed." He said in his speaking voice, walking slowly toward the cloaked figure. It responded in no way. "Get up or I'll take points from your house." He leaned over the lump and was surprised to see a brilliant patch of blond hair that he knew well enough. Draco crouched down and touched the figure's shoulder. "Are you sleeping, Liv?"

She turned and saw him, her eyes red and swollen as if she was sick. "My god." He whispered under his breath.

"Hi," she whispered back weakly, "what's the time?"

"After midnight, I'm afraid." When she did not stand, he snaked arms under her and hefted her up. He found that she was not as heavy as he anticipated. He wondered if she'd been losing weight. "Let's get you to bed."

Olivia did not argue; she simply wrapped a hand around the lapel of his bed robe and leaned against his shoulder. Her body felt cold to Draco. "How long have you been out here?"

"I can't remember." She murmured after a while. She _was_ cold and the warmth of the castle made her sleepier. "I don't…" she was having trouble with her words. It seemed to Draco as if they were as struggled as one's breaths when they were breathing through a straw.

"I can't hear you." He said anxiously.

"I don't want to go to bed." She was crying again, still silently.

Draco picked up his pace to the astronomy tower. When he hit the stairs, he became a bit more labored, and there were paintings watching and whispering to each other, hands covering the movements their lips made. He became irritable. "You need to sleep."

"What if they find me, Draco?"

He stopped in his tracks. "What?" His question erupted in a mumble.

"They'll hurt you, too."

"She speaks as if she was absent." A woman in a painting whispered, not quiet enough to keep her troubles from Draco's ears. The woman tugged on the sleeve of her lover.

Draco walked again until he saw the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. The statue before him sighed a deep sigh. A voice seemed to encompass the whole area, clear and deep. "It is greater than God and more evil than the devil. The poor have it, the rich need it, and if one eats it, he'll die."

"What is this?" Draco scoffed. He tried to stand Olivia up, but she was wobbly, much like she was after the Halloween ball.

"You just answer the riddle, Draco." She said lowly, her hand still around his lapel.

"I-I don't… nothing. The answer is nothing."

Stairs were revealed to him again and he sighed as he wondered if Olivia would be able to make them. She looked up at his face and shook her head. "No—I don't want to go in." She was pleading and it made Draco nauseous. "Please don't make me go in."

Once more, the prince swallowed and snuck his arms under her legs and on her back. She let out a small sob into his shoulder when he finally braved the foyer. I was warmer than one would think, blue and yellow. Olivia trembled against his body. "No one is in here."

"It's very late. Everyone's gone to sleep."

"Please don't make me go to bed." Liv replied quickly. She seemed more coherent with these words than she had all night.

Draco sat her down in front of the fireplace and placed a folded blanket on her knees. When she didn't unfold it, he did for her. "Why don't you want to go to bed, Olivia? You're as tired as a bloody nursery rhyme."

She shivered, but did not pull the blanket around herself. Draco supposed that the extra warmth would only make her sleepier. "When was the last time you had a rest?"

Liv touched her head back into the back of the couch and struggled to keep her eyes open. "It has been a while." She finally answered.

"Why aren't you sleeping, Liv?" He scooted a few inches closer and tilted his head toward her.

She turned her own head to the side, her heavily-lidded eyes half-closed. "My father's gone. Mother hasn't heard from him in a week. She says that she wants me to be able to stay at Hogwarts, but she's worried."

"So you can't sleep?"

"If I sleep, I'll have nightmares. And what if he's dead, Draco? I cannot sleep without knowing."

"But what if," Draco fidgeted with his hands. "He's alive? He would be worried about you romping the grounds like a zombie."

"You don't know my father." She spoke lazily. Every word felt thick on her tongue.

"I know you, Olivia. And I know that you did not come from an unloving family. Get some sleep…for your father." Draco was tired as well, and knew that he would soon be too tired to console her.

"I don't know." She replied hesitantly. A nascent yawn crossed her lips and soon Draco was guiding her up and in the direction of her bedchamber. She crossed the threshold with caution, her footfalls made softer with purpose. She turned and saw Draco waiting in the doorway, his arms crossed and his weight on the doorframe. He waited as she turned back her flannels and stepped behind the privacy screen to change. He was still there when she returned.

"What if mother is next?" Liv whispered.

"Mother is not next." He said simply and lowly.

She scoffed, "Then am I next?"

"You are _not_ next." Draco stepped forward and held her cheek in his hand.

"You think you know?"

"You may not think that I do," he sighed, "but I know." It was in this next moment, when Olivia checked to see if her roommates were stirring, that Draco touched his mouth against hers, this time with a different feeling. It was a brighter feeling with a different intensity. He pressed his free hand into the small of her back and as tired as she was, there was no fight. She pressed her own hands into his chest. They moved together in what could only be described as a dance. After a while, Olivia began to feel a sort of internal pressure, realizing that her roommates could know so easily. She still did not want to sleep. She pulled back from the kiss and lingered in the warm air about their faces. She closed her eyes and listened to the quickened breath of her kisser. They held their embrace tightly and magnetically.

"Come with me?" She phrased in question and pulled the prince by his hand. He followed with deep interest over to her bed, where she removed her bed robe and settled in. She drew the curtains and looked at him expectantly.

"Are you inviting me into your bed?" He asked, or rather mumbled, too nervous to completely understand.

"I'm not trying to seduce you." She answered as if that explained it all, and she patted the space beside her. He was painfully aware that there was more than enough space for him. "Just lie down with me, Draco."

He untied the knot on his robe and was immediately cooler. His pajamas were thin, but there was a fireplace nearby. He crawled into the bed before her and pulled the curtains shut. He jolted when her hands reached out and touched his chest, but she drew in closer to him and made a pillow out of his arm, a blanket with his other one before he'd even had time to think. Almost instantly, Olivia made a rest. Never in his life did Draco expect to be coddling a mudblood to bed. He wondered if he would be disgusted with himself in the morning, but then knew that he would not, though he might have to make her believe so.

It was almost silent in the dormitory, save for her nonsensical night-mumblings and the cackling of the fire. It was distracting at first, then relaxing. Several minutes later, he's just dozed off when her voice woke him. "Draco," she whispered with a hand on his waist that she rubbed comfortingly back and forth, "thank you for staying."


	17. Diamond

It was just as the sun was rising over the courtyard that Draco was taking off towards his dormitory. With surprisingly little effort, he'd left Ravenclaw tower and Olivia; she was tucked away snugly beneath her covers. Since he'd left the warm of her bed, his mind and wandered about the curve of her breast and the canyon of her back and the way that this heart had foolishly fallen when she did not awake at his leaving. A childish, inexperienced, wounded part of him had hoped to hear her mewling for him as soon as he'd ducked out from under the cover, and the idea remained in his head insatiated. A scowl littered more prominently across his face when he saw this needy part of himself.

"Draco," a pinched voice sternly demanded from just to the right of the boy's peripherals.

In a sweeping motion, Draco turned, seeing his head of house approach. He began to formulate a plan in his head for his appearance. _Couldn't sleep; worried about OWLs and all that. Went to the library and lost myself in a book about Charms._

_ "_You were out last night, were you? I've been looking damn near everywhere."

"Well, you see, I—" He was cut off so quickly that he did not even need his well-formulated plan.

"There are things we need to talk over."

"Oh?"

"Do not play the fool, boy. You know what I'm speaking of. Be in my office by detention time and Lord so help you if you are late."

"Yes, sir." Draco replied neutrally. He did not so much care for Severus since the containment of his father. The oily mink of a man had become a symbol by now, but as he walked away, Draco could not help but watch with fascination at the way Snape's robes rustled as he walked. In the midst of Draco's perusing, the man unexpectedly turned.

"And _do_ work on making yourself much more present."

Draco nodded then. As his subject turned within a corridor, the boy's mind frantically began to wonder if the professor knew of his rendezvous with the blond girl. Never before had he spent so much time examining the phrase, "things to talk over." He swallowed a lump in his throat as he jogged to his bedroom to prepare for breakfast.

As usual, Draco was perusing through his Daily Prophet. As was common, Liam had also brought a letter from home, written in his mother's curvy, graceful font. Narssisa Malfoy exhaled elegance with her script just as she did with her walk, her speech, and her poise. With honesty, Draco could admit that he loved his mother- that he missed her; her letters helped him feel whole and wonderful and like a child, but he did not dare betray himself. After turning to the back of the final page, he held in a gasp Draco was too old for the salutation: Love, Mummy. The mismatched font at the end of his mother's loving letter had cued Narssissa's tone of apology.

The new scripts had been written quickly and wildly, obviously by his aunt. Unlike his matriarch, Bellatrix did not bother to carefully wipe away mistakes with her wand. Rather, she scratched through them and continued on. There was no care in the message, and as expected, her name was not signed at the bottom.

Rarely had his aunt ever written him, so it was no surprise that she'd marred the bottom of a letter from home. Bellatrix had wished him a Happy Halloween once when he was a child; she'd sent a gift when he was sorted into Slytherin, and once to ask him to remind his mother of something at a time near Christmas a few years ago.

The letter from Bellatrix was exceptionally short, but the crazed writing was still riddled with crossed-through misspellings and re-phrasings. After reading through the message twice, the prince realized something that disturbed him. Politely, his kind was accusing him of disloyalty, and then he realized that she was not threatening to offer him help, but threatening her presence as the remedy to Dumbledore's life. A shudder crept through his spine and he folded the once cheerful letter away.

Just a few yards out of his reach, Olivia was sipping an orange juice and glancing in his own direction. She jerked both her eyes and her goblet away when she saw that she was caught, and a blush crept over her cheeks. In spite of his better judgment, he found himself smirking at her flustering. She soon realized that he was not going to look away and locked her gaze with his eyes. Olivia seemed a bit more rested, he thought, though he could have been imagining it for his own benefit.

He followed with his stone-gray eyes the curve of her jaw and the soft place beneath her left ear. Visions apparated into his mind of the tip of his nose following this path ,leadind eventually to her collarbones.

Draco blinked at himself when his daydreams became more violent, the tender feeling in his legs when he encountered release and the idea of his partner in this being the girl whom his ideas currently assaulted. He tried to blink away the ideas of what he assumed to be blond hair at the apex of her thighs and when his visions became stubborn, he looked away. A look toward her two minutes later revealed her to be slicing a roll, looking no more harmed for his ideas. Still, Draco felt a pit in his stomach.

There was not a feeling of well-being in Draco's mind as he walked quickly to Professor Snape's office at detention time. He was having flashbacks of occlumency lessons with Aunt Bellatrix that were sparked, no doubt, from her unfriendly letter and his impending visit with his potions professor. There had been a time that he'd rather liked Snape. Snape had rather liked Draco, too, or so it seemed. The year last, when Draco had almost turned 16, Snape had attended the branding ritual.

The name was much more formal than the ceremony, actually. It was a spell that the Dark Lord mumbled a bit more quietly than Draco had expected, followed by a burning searing pain as a tattoo of Draco's own blood sprouted the surface of his skin. In a flash, as he saw the color rise in his pale arm, he'd glanced at his father with a noticeable grimace and saw the fearful look that his father shared. Beside him, with her hand clenched against his father's arm, Narssissa was biting her lip with such force that Draco feared the end of the ritual would be his death.

With a sigh, Draco recalled the pain again, the way that is felt like he'd been filleted by a chef, and hoe he'd expected to see blood pouring from the mark out onto the flawless white of the carpet in his father's study. As his eyes met the heavy wooden door to Snape's office, Draco became meticulously aware of his wrist and forearm. The teacher inside had a mark that twinned his own. The two men were partners. They were supposed to be partners.

Draco rapped at the door quickly, twice, hoping for the best, but expecting nothing but the worst.

"Enter," Snape's nasally voice answered.

Draco obeyed as expected, his feet feeling like they were made of lead. "I'm here," he said, trying only half-heartedly to hide his disdain.

"You're late."

"By only one minute"

Their conversation was rapid fire.

"He'd expected a report from you by now."

"I'm sure he has. I'll report to him tonight."

"Lock the door behind you." Snape stood from behind his desk.

Draco did so, paranoid of who might appear. Snape was keen on handing out detentions, as was commonly believed.

"You were working on the vanishing cabinet."

"I still am."

"How close is it?"

"Close—I just…"

"_how close?"_

"Paper no longer burns en route."

"What about life?"

"Illness," The air in the room was tense. For Draco, it was reminiscent of suffocation. "Death is delayed." He added when Snape looked at him expectantly.

"It is almost February, Draco."

"That it is."

"You have a deadline." The wording Severus chose was foreboding, for the prince knew that there were to be deaths, whether the loss of life was Dumbledore or not.

"I know." He admitted in a moment of vulnerability. He felt his blood drip from his spine deep down into his feet, only to rocket back into his neck and body.

Severus observed the fear in the boy and looked away, too characteristically cold to make amends to the boy before him, but too uncomfortable to witness his reaction. "What are you waiting for?"

"I'm not waiting!" He said in a strong outburst. It was more unwavering than Snape had expected from him. "I am working!" He continued. "And you're not; you're just sitting there doing nothing."

Snape opened his mouth to speak but abandoned his train of thought.

"It's something that he's given this task to me and not you."

"What strong words from someone who does not even want this task. You fool. There is more to this plot than you know—more than your mummy could ever tell you. More than your father or your mother knows." A scowl was written on Severus's face, not that this was particularly abnormal.

All the words Draco had thought to shout were stifled but one. "Do not speak of my mother." He said lowly and fiercely before turning to unlock the door.

As Draco walked forcefully from the dungeons, Snape called. "Do not forget to report."

"Draco!" A girl's voice called from the direction from the nearby owlery.

He was on a walk, hoping for a bit of quiet now. The voice did not disturb him, however. In fact, it made him feel much happier than he seemed.

"I was hoping to speak to you soon." Liv said as she jogged up to catch him. "You promised me potions lessons. Do you remember?"

"Yes," he nodded. "I remember."

"How soon shall we begin?"

"The day after tomorrow," he replied curtly.

"Splendid; I'm feeling much better, by the way." She said, wiggling her eyebrows as if she wanted him to ask why. When he didn't, she continued, unphased. "You made me feel much better, really. But my mother's also written. My father's turned up, though curiously he has no idea of where he'd been during the time he was missing. It's strange, for sure, but much better than the alternative."


	18. Moonlight

It was true that the vanishing cabinet was almost completely repaired, but there was little more that Draco could think of to do in effort to secure flawless transportation. After wiping through all the library books that were relevant, Draco was hoping that aesthetics could save the integrity of the cabinet. In the room of lost things, the prince had found a bit of paint, and the nest day, having informed Voldemort of his efforts, he applied a thick layer, inside and out, of gray paint. _If nothing else,_ Draco thought, _it looks cleaner._

He mended the shelves already, narrowly missing his fingers with the hammer more than once. The books in the library had called for "integrity" discreetly suggesting that wands be put away for this work. Not without a grudge, Malfoy heeded this advice. It was a strange feeling, to put so much effort into something, but Draco Malfoy had no choice. It was a burden to care for humans, so.

He wondered, as he mended his cabinet, if there was a hope that he could succeed. Olivia had told him once long ago that hope was the only ointment for bad circumstance. He wished that he felt she was right. This is what this all was, right? This was bad circumstance? There were lives placed on the ling. These circumstances, they had to have been near brutal, more evil than bad.

This was not simply child's play and that prince was no longer a child. At one point, while painting the furniture, he caught sight of himself in a mirror. What he saw was no longer a boy, but a reluctant man. And it seemed that this man had a penchant for failure, for cowardice. It was not just Rosmerta who had failed him—luck had failed him to such a fault that redemption did not feel attainable now.

Draco took a break and relieved himself of his paintbrush. _If I ended my life, he could not, _Draco said dismissively, but oh how that was true. If Malfoy was dead, he could not feel his failure. He could not be punished. If Draco was dead, he would not have to hear his father's anguish—see his mother cry. He sighed audibly at the thought and looked at his hands, both covered in splotches and drips of gray paint. _These hands are not capable. _The poisoned mead, the cursed necklace…perhaps the third try could be the charm? He would just have to do it then. He would have to either fail or succeed, and he would have to do it quickly.

Draco stood and pointed his wand at a nearby stack of books. "Avada Kedavra," he said without much enthusiasm. A green spark flew deftly from the tip of his wand, hit the books, and dissipated roughly. Draco cleared his throat with a cough. "Avada Kedavra!" he said again, his voice stumbling against the walls and disturbing the quietus of the calm room. The green, colored like the skin of an apple, ricocheted back this time, narrowly missing the executioner, who barely had time to duck away.

Somehow, these hands were capable.

"You have to add that in with a spoon, not your fingers." Draco noted curtly as he watched Olivia drop into her cauldron four and a half beetle husks.

With a blush, she tapped the husks onto her spoon and added them to her potion, which made a creaky sound and turned a brilliant shade of yellow. "How's that?" She asked, her ears eager to hear that she'd done well.

Draco leaned forward more from the other side of the table. "Stir it more." He said as he took off his robe and threw it upon the chair. He undid his tie next and Liv did as she was told.

The potion bubbled a bit before settling down. "Not all of the husks had dissolved, had they?" Liv asked absently, tearing her eyes from her work.

"Right," Draco agreed as he rolled his sleeves up.

"Now what?"

"Bottle it up and use it on the rat. If he changes color, you know you've…" he drifted off toward the end of his answer, his eyes having fallen hesitantly on the brand on his arm. He folded it beneath his other arm and waited.

Olivia's shoes made a soft noise on the floor as she cut across the room to retrieve her rat. Draco reached quickly for his want and muttered something so quietly, Olivia heard nothing. "Wha-what are you doing?" She asked quickly, both hands still clutching her rat. A breath shivered through her lungs out of necessity after a while when she realized she'd been holding it.

"Nothing," he said as casually as he could muster.

Olivia had stopped in her tracks halfway across the room. "I thought," she paused, "I thought I saw a mark on your arm, Draco."

"Nothing," he repeated, showing the flawless insides of his arms.

"No-no, I saw it, what did you do?" Her pupils were big; there were goosebumps so large on her arms that Draco could see them from so far away. He contemplated the truth. He contemplated lies. "You didn't call him, did you?" Her speech neared a whisper, then, cracking at the end. A fat tear rolled down her face.

Draco held back another sigh. He was tired of her tears. He was tired of the attention he knew they warranted. He shook his head. "I didn't call him, Olivia. I don't see why you're so convinced that I'm trying to kill you." He rolled back down his sleeves and tried not to fret about the effectiveness of his covering charm. The dark magic in the brand was so strong that is could only remain hidden for an hour.

"It's just suspicious," she said.

"I was hiding it," he admitted, "I don't need you running off—telling everyone things they don't need to know. Besides, I don't see how it wasn't obvious that I was already branded, at least to you."

Olivia looked away and dried her eyes with her sleeve. "There's a difference between thinking on it and actually seeing it, you know." She put her rat gently down on the table next to her cauldron, finally braving a place closer to Draco. "You were trying to hide it from me. Was it because you thought I'd be afraid?"

"Yeah," he answered, running his fingers over Liv's rat, "and you were."

"Only because it disappeared so suddenly." She looked flustered.

"You would have been just as afraid to see it."

Liv shook her head. "You don't know that." Her voice was challenging.

Draco made eye contact and placed his wand on his skin. He did not decline a challenge, verbal or non-verbal. He muttered the recovery spell and waited as the mark reappeared. It was a blemish, a large aggravating blemish. "You're not afraid if it?" he challenged back. There was no mistaking the smirk in his question.

"Of course not," It was painfully obvious that she was lying.

"Would you touch it?"

With all the courage she was capable of, Olivia Mandara reached out and caressed the inside of the prince's arm. She had won the challenge. The two shared a cold chill as the differing temperatures of their skins colliding, Draco's hot and Olivia's cold. The atmosphere of the room of requirement had settled between their needs and left something to be desired for both parties.

"You're okay with that?" Draco whispered, still a bit surprised.

"I'm trying to be." She admitted while she also tried to smile.

Draco closed a hand around Olivia's small wrist. He blinked at the sconces on the wall as they lost light. The atmosphere prepared itself the way it had been rumored to do for witches and wizards for centuries and Draco sauntered around the table, his steps bringing him closer to Olivia. She became wordless easily as he approached her in the low light.

Draco's lips felt as if they were melting into hers as he kissed her, this time without the fear of being caught. There was no one to intrude—no one to find out, and that was exciting. "Don't you want to kiss me?" he whispered into her ear. His hands dropped to her waist and his body drew closer, the space between them obediently coming to a close.

Olivia's body seemed to snap at this idea, and with a surprised grin, he accepted as her fingers combed into the back of his hair roughly. He accepted as she yanked his head back with equal force, exposing the skin if his neck, her lips touched under his ear with the help provided from the tips of her toes. In his hands, he could feel her wobble unsteadily. "Of course I do." She hummed there. Her breath fretted across his ear. "I want to very much." She moved to the curve of his neck, where she suckled him.

Draco's mind began to wander, then. He was thinking about the way her nipples had peaked under her shirt without her knowledge as she mixed her potion after complaining of the cold. In her nightgown, her breasts had been almost completely visible. Draco let out a groan as her hips moved closer to him. He was fighting the urge to beg her to touch him. He took one of her breasts in his hand and gripped it perhaps to fiercely, for Liv let out a small mewl. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized in a groan before tearing his hand away. He was torn between keeping away and magneting back.

"It's okay," she assured. Her hands began to roam to the top buttons of his shirt. She unbuttoned the buttons at a frustratingly slow pace and touched her lips at the skin she exposed at each unfastening. Draco wondered how far she would go and wondered exactly how eager she might be to have him. He was thinking of dipping his hands under the waistband of her skirt and touching her. Maybe she was already wet.

"Don't you want me?" He taunted, as he pulled his hands under her shirt, touching the soft flesh there. It was not until his hands crept to the fastening of her bra that she gasped at him.

"I don't—I-I mean I think we should stop."

A part of Draco's ego shattered. "You don't want me?"

"That's not what I mean. I mean that this is probably a bad idea."

"Right, then," he answered. He'd wanted her quite badly, really. "Do you have any more questions?" He buttoned the undone fastenings on this shirt and the lights brightened all in tandem.

"Draco," she said shyly. "It's not that I don't want to. I-I do, I just… this isn't how I pictured it."

There was a pause between the two.

"I'm sure you've thought of candles and moonlight." Draco said. It had sounded more bitter than he'd intended. "You pictured some sort of hero."

Olivia locked eyes with him for a moment before taking his face in her hands. "You have no idea what I've pictured, and you haven't even asked. Don't pretend that you already know what I want." She kissed him sweetly on the mouth and left, leaving Draco alone again.


End file.
